


Broken Leg Blues

by stew (julie)



Category: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension (1984)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1988-07-16
Updated: 1988-07-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22206007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/stew
Summary: Rawhide feels despondent and utterly useless. His leg is broken, which means he can’t even rescue Gran Greville’s cat from a tree. Perfect Tommy knows just what to do, however.
Kudos: 1





	Broken Leg Blues

**Author's Note:**

> **First published:** in my zine “Samurai Errant: Cavalier Tales Quixotic and Profane” #1 on 16 July 1988

# Broken Leg Blues 

♦

“Here, puss,” Rawhide called as winningly as he could. “Here, puss.” The cat meowed plaintively back at him. Rawhide sighed, eyeing it skeptically. 

“Would you like a cup of tea, dear?” 

“Yes, thank you. I think we might be here for some time.” Alone again, Rawhide turned back to the problem. He was getting the sneaking suspicion that the cat was playing for all the sympathy it could get. He was almost certain that if he simply turned his back and hobbled away on his crutches, it would amble down out of the tree and get on with doing whatever cats generally did for kicks. “And what do you do for kicks when you’re not bothering me, eh?” 

The cat looked down at her captive human, fear and vulnerability in her eyes. 

Rawhide thought he spied a little smugness and cunning, too, but he couldn’t be sure. Anyhow, one did not walk out on Gran Greville when her favorite cat was stuck up a tree. “Come on, puss, come on, sweetie,” Rawhide almost purred, careful not to let his suspicions of the cat’s ulterior motives show in his voice. You had to talk like that to skittish horses, too – your words less important than the calming, friendly sound of your voice. 

“Come on, you little devil,” he continued in his low reassuring rumble. 

What was Perfect Tommy saying the other night? “If I had your voice, I’d be set. You could persuade anyone into anything with a voice like that.” He was drunk at the time, of course, and growing quickly oblivious to the fact that he’d just been turned down by some girl. _But damned if I don’t wish he’d been right,_ Rawhide reflected. It would come in very handy right about now. 

“No luck yet, dear?” 

“Sorry, Gran.” Rawhide took the cup of tea, and one of the proffered cookies. “What was her name again?” 

“Munchkin – oh, she is naughty. It’s all Flyboy’s fault, you know. He would come around and teach her tricks, and give her airs. Why, Munchkin was quite jealous of Eunice when Flyboy married her. Didn’t like her one bit.” 

“Now that’s not very fair, Munchkin,” Rawhide said in his most reasonable voice, gazing at the cat over his teacup. “I know none of us can take Flyboy’s place, but won’t I do for a cuddle today?” 

Munchkin shifted uncomfortably a little.

“She says you would do fine, if only she wasn’t stuck in this tree,” Gran Greville interpreted. 

“Huh,” was Rawhide’s slightly ungracious reply. 

“It’s a pity you can’t just climb up there…” Both Gran and Rawhide looked down at his left leg, hugely and inflexibly encased in white plaster. 

“I could have thought of better times to break my leg,” Rawhide agreed. “If it wasn’t broken, I’d be in Nevada with Buckaroo and all.” 

“Whatever are they doing in Nevada?” 

“It ain’t the ends of the earth, you know, Gran. They’re playing some gigs, running a desert survival course. Generally having a good time…” 

“Have another cookie, dear.” 

Rawhide sighed again. “I’m gonna have to call in some help here.” 

“Well, I’ll go brew another pot of tea, then.” And she turned to go inside. 

“Thanks, Gran.” Rawhide pulled out his Go-Phone. “Perfect Tommy, come in. Come in, Tommy.” 

There was no reply. Rawhide’s usual calm almost deserted him. He felt decidedly like jumping around in anger, but reckoned that would do more harm than good right now. Leave Tommy in charge at the Institute for the day, and what do you expect? Everyone else with Buckaroo in Nevada, or on holiday, or adventuring in some damned exotic location, and Perfect Tommy’s probably taken the opportunity to throw a pool party or shut himself up in the sound-proofed studio to listen to his own guitar licks. 

“Come in, Tommy, this is an emergency!” That might startle him into attention. 

Finally: “Hey, Rawhide!” 

“Where in tarnation have you been?” 

“What’s the problem? Leg playing up?” Tommy asked solicitously. 

“No,” Rawhide replied as reasonably as he could. “Just a small emergency over at Gran Greville’s, OK? Hop on the Marconi and get a Blue Blaze or two over here ASAP.”

“I’m onto it. Over and –” 

“A ladder would help. And make it snappy, Tommy.” 

“Got it. Over and out,” Perfect Tommy replied tersely. 

Rawhide hopped over to a convenient garden wall and propped himself up. Maybe he’d been a little harsh on Tommy just then. It was just being out of action with this leg that had him frustrated. In more ways than one. And being left alone with Tommy while everyone else was off having fun. And Tommy treating it like a holiday anyhow, and childishly taking charge now the boss was gone and he, Rawhide, was somewhat incapacitated. Buckaroo had even made the mistake of asking Tommy to play nursemaid. One’s temper inevitably ended up a little frayed around the edges, which wasn’t fair on anyone. Buckaroo would have a few words to say to him if Rawhide kept grouching around… Buckaroo would tell him a few home-truths that he wouldn’t want to hear. And Reno would start describing him in the novels as cranky and irritable at this rate, rather than quiet and Zen-like… 

There was the sound of running feet, and Rawhide turned to look up the deserted street. A Blue Blaze Irregular in full regalia came pounding down the sidewalk. _Help is on the way, Munchkin._ No sign of a ladder, but at least she can climb up after you. 

Actually it looks rather more like an Uzi than a ladder in her hands. I wonder why the Uzi? 

More running feet from the other direction. And two Blue Blazes creeping around from the sides of Gran’s house, rifles at the ready. Three more striding in from the crossroad. All surrounding Rawhide, keeping a wary distance. 

Then the racket and mini-tornado of a helicopter, with Perfect Tommy leaning out the open side, looking around expectantly, eagerly. 

Rawhide gazed up in stunned disbelief. Had the world gone crazy, or was it just him? 

“Rawhide! Where’s the emergency?” Tommy called out. 

Munchkin chose that moment to abandon the perils of the tree for the relative safety of Rawhide’s arms, a flying leap tracked by every gun in the vicinity. “Hey!” protested Rawhide. “Don’t point them things at me.” 

Gran Greville backed out through her screen door, tray of tea things in hand. “Oh my,” was her only comment as she turned and froze. 

Rawhide started laughing. The chopper’s blades whirled above him, half a dozen guns remained trained on him. Munchkin scratched him and fled indoors, almost upsetting Gran Greville and his afternoon tea. And Rawhide laughed until the tears poured down his face. “If I told you once,” he managed over the chaos. “If I told you once, I told you a thousand times, Tommy. No damn strike teams!” 

“Well, if that’s what it takes to make you laugh these days…” Tommy petulantly replied. He announced over the loudspeaker, “At ease, people!” 

The guns lowered, and the helicopter headed for the nearest vacant lot. “Would anyone like a cup of tea?” Gran Greville asked timidly. 

“Gran, that’s the best damn offer I’ve had all week. Thank you!”

♦


End file.
